


One Other Such Victory

by variative



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Aggression, Consent Issues, Other, Reconciliation, feeeeeeeelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 09:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variative/pseuds/variative
Summary: Megatron was certain that if he moved to trade physical or verbal blows with Starscream, he would only take them, and take them, and take them, until Megatron was forced to either kill him or grant him mercy.Neither option was acceptable.





	One Other Such Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】得无偿失（One Other Such Victory）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23944771) by [Brushhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brushhh/pseuds/Brushhh)
  * Inspired by [The Revenant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460527) by [Lycaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste). 



“You asked to see me.”

Starscream’s voice was so flat and empty that Megatron barely recognized it at all. He had been repaired since their earlier match, but his voice was laced still with tired static, as it had been when he had pressed Megatron’s weapon to his chest and begged him to j _ust do it already._

Megatron’s internals twisted at the sound of it, his fuel systems clenching threateningly. He forced power away from his emotional processor, and the sensation faded.

“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the bunk. Megatron himself was seated in a desk chair, letting his new bulk sprawl as if he sat upon a throne. Starscream hovered in the doorway for a moment, and then slunk over and sat, just as Megatron was about to snarl at him for his disobedience.

He ground his teeth. _Damn_ Starscream.

Megatron took a moment to survey his treacherous second, his Seeker. After all those festering emotional wounds Megatron had been forced to lance the day before, he would have hoped that Starscream would have taken that momentum and returned, at least somewhat, to his previous state.

He had not.

Starscream had been repaired only to the extent that Megatron had damaged him. His paint was mottled, bare metal showing through in far more places than had been, but his frame was in clean, orderly lines once more. The ailerons on the edges of Starscream’s freshly straightened wings twitched nervously, but other than that he didn’t move at all. Unarmed, he sat slumped with his arms wrapped protectively around his midsection, his head bowed, and his optics—carefully avoiding Megatron’s—held a dull yellow glaze. If anything, he had regressed: the frantic hysteria and despair of earlier had been replaced with dull resignation. Megatron was abruptly nearly overcome with the urge to shake him, to knock him to the ground and grind his heel down on the back of Starscream’s neck until he had to fight, until he had no choice but to hate Megatron and lash out and try to hurt him in his rage. But Megatron was certain that if he moved to trade physical or verbal blows with Starscream, he would only take them, and take them, and take them, until Megatron was forced to either kill him or grant him mercy.

Neither option was acceptable.

Megatron stood. Starscream didn’t flinch, but his ailerons all snapped straight at once, and his wings pressed tight to his back. Megatron chose to ignore that, making for the energon dispenser instead. He poured two cubes of high-grade, and turned back to see Starscream staring incredulously at him. His head went down quick enough, though, his lip curling in anger—at himself, for being caught looking? At Megatron? The Seeker’s mind was such a tangled web of processes, it might have been either or both or something else entirely.

Starscream did take the cube, when Megatron held it out to him. “Thank you, my lord,” he said flatly, and still would not meet Megatron’s eyes. He wouldn’t touch the energon, either, just held it in his lap.

“Drink,” Megatron said, menacingly.

Hesitantly, Starscream lifted it to his lips. His wings shifted as he swallowed, barely a mouthful, and then lowered the cube to rest on his knees again.

Megatron blew out an exhaust cycle, scowling. “Do you imagine that I would poison you now, if I did not slay you yesterday when you begged for it? Do you imagine that I require the influence of drink to lower your guard for whatever I have planned for you, Starscream?”

“Why am I here?” The question was sharp, and Starscream finally looked at Megatron. Oh, it was worse, though, meeting that flat yellow gaze, staring in the face that slack and careless expression.

Megatron did not answer immediately. He raised the cube to his lips and took a long drink, thoughtfully, and then told Starscream, “You are here because I desire it. Do you require further explanation?”

“Oh,” Starscream whispered, a sudden tremble going through him all at once. He swallowed, fingers clenching tight on the energon cube, and then spat, “Not at all, my lord. I understand completely.” He snapped open two access panels, one on his hip and one on his chest, and turned his face away. “Get on with it.”

After a moment in which Megatron could only regard Starscream with dismay, he slumped abruptly and cracked out, static-laced, “Don’t play these games, Megatron. I—I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” Megatron inquired, curious.

“I can’t stand it!” Starscream shrieked, bolting to his feet and flinging the energon cube across the room. It burst messily against the wall. Megatron stood too, but Starscream only beat his fists uselessly against Megatron’s chest and cried, “You want access, take it for Primus’s sake! You have it! You have me! I’m yours, Megatron, I’m yours, you can beat and rape and humiliate me as you please, is that—i–is that what you want—” He trailed off and folded in on himself, sinking back down onto the bunk and exposing the port on his hip while the rest of him huddled into a miserable ball. “Don’t play games,” Starscream muttered. “I can’t stand it.”

It was sickening. Megatron hated that it was so sickening. It gave him no other avenue but honesty.

“You telling me to not play games,” Megatron sighed.

Starscream did not react.

“I have no desire to hurt you, Starscream,” Megatron said.

Starscream gave a disbelieving sniff. “Why am I here, then,” he sneered, finally a little like his old self, and Megatron felt the unhappy clench of his internals ease somewhat.

It was damn intolerable. When the hell did his emotional satisfaction get attached to the unbearably irritating well-being of his actively traitorous second?

Damn it all anyway.

Megatron sat on the bunk next to Starscream, forcing his internals to settle into calm. He looked over the Seeker’s huddled form curiously. It was very odd, seeing him mottled and dull rather than polished within a centimeter of his life. “Are you in pain? Your repairs look to be thorough.”

Starscream twitched. “I told you not to play games with me,” he hissed.

Megatron let out a rumbling chuckle. “You presume to order me,” he said, sly and amused, and reached out and ran his thumb and forefinger down the edge of a wing.

“I—”

“Starscream,” Megatron rumbled, tugging the lower strut of Starscream’s wing and making him stifle a gasp. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Fine,” Starscream said, voice wavering a little, but the gleam of his optics was bright enough to reflect off the metal of his arm, braced on the bunk.

Megatron hummed and traced his fingers along the hinge where Starscream’s wings met his body, pressed until the metal creaked and Starscream muffled a groan behind his bitten lip.

“You look well, now,” Megatron said, petting the joint.

“I look like I belong on a slag heap,” Starscream sneered. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Megatron.”

He leaned over Starscream and murmured into his audial, “ Lord Megatron, to you.”

A curled lip in response, and somehow it pleased Megatron; he shifted, tugging Starscream closer so he could better reach Starscream’s wings. The low hangdog droop of them, so far removed from the usual proud arch, was lifting little by little into Megatron’s hands as he stroked the delicate machinery. Starscream was shivering enough that Megatron’s fingers rattled against him whenever his touch went too light, and even with half Starscream’s paint stripped off, he was—he was—

“This is a strange punishment,” Starscream muttered bitterly. “Going soft?”

Megatron didn’t bother to answer that. His hands moved further, cupped Starscream’s shoulder to nudge him willingly onto his back, shuffling his wings fussily before he lay flat and let his legs straighten out next to Megatron on the bunk. Starscream still looked up at him with a wary, watchful gaze, but Megatron only lifted a hand and traced the lines of his helm, carefully, carefully, and Starscream’s optics flickered uncertainly.

“What are you doing,” he snarled, only to be silenced as Megatron ran a finger over the thin, severe line of his mouth; it went soft beneath the touch. Megatron continued down. His claws tapped lightly against the smooth new glass of Starscream’s cockpit. The vibration of his engine reverberated through Megatron’s fingers.

“Don’t,” Starscream mumbled, shuddering. “Don’t—”

Megatron grunted questioningly, looking up at Starscream’s face. For an instant he saw it shocked open and raw, and then Starscream’s expression slammed shut, closing Megatron out.

“Don’t scratch the glass,” he snapped, looking away. “It’s new.”

“Let me in,” Megatron said, low.

“No,” Starscream hissed. His eyes were very bright and he arched up a little, panting, as Megatron hooked his clawed fingertips over the rim of Starscream’s left turbine and tugged gently.

“Let me in,” Megatron said again. “I am your lord. You are my second in command, my Seeker, my Starscream. Let me in.”

Starscream’s fans clicked to a higher setting, and he stared dazedly up at Megatron for a moment before he scowled and turned his face away.

“You’re a traitor and a coward,” Megatron said. The port on Starscream’s chest was still open, forgotten. Megatron touched it delicately, circled around the rim and made him shudder all over violently. “You’re a fool, Starscream, but you’re mine. Let me in. ”

“Alright,” Starscream gasped. “ Alright, Megatron!”

“Good,” Megatron growled, and leaned over and put out a cable from his chest and jacked into Starscream.

At first it was nothing, a wash of useless sensory data meant to distract and misbalance. Megatron experienced a brief moment of intense confusion and vertigo as Starscream fed him his own temperature and pressure readings, the feeling of his own body pressing against him and his berth pressing against his back and Starscream pressed against him, and he shook Starscream by the throat and snarled, “Damn you, Starscream—!”

Dimly it registered that Starscream’s hands were gripping painfully tight on Megatron’s elbows, thumbs digging in between the armor seams, and he whimpered very softly, “Don’t…”

Megatron bared his teeth and snarled, “ Let me in,” and Starscream did, all of a sudden with his face jerking to the side like he didn’t want to know what he was doing, and Megatron staggered under the weight of the self-loathing and shame and hatred that came pouring through his processes, the burning horrible desire for Megatron to just take, to make Starscream hurt, to make him clean again, to make him belong to Megatron. It was safe there, at the feet of the looming shadow that was Megatron in Starscream’s mind, no matter how dark it was too. He had been so lonely, those three years. So exposed.

“I hate you,” Starscream snarled, optics glittering. “I hate you!”

“You idiot,” Megatron hissed, and let Starscream come rushing into his own processes just as he shoved a wave of pleasure through the Seeker’s circuitry. His optics went wide and shocked, and he moaned wantonly, helplessly, and reached up and gripped the back of Megatron’s helm. Starscream’s legs fell open and Megatron settled himself between them, pressed chestplate-to-chestplate. The hum of Starscream’s fans, his engine, his spark beating just there—the vibrations reached into Megatron’s own chest.

My Seeker, he thought. My beautiful Seeker. Starscream was his, possessed utterly, and just knowing that was nearly as good as Starscream crying out underneath him, nearly as good as the waves of feedback that were sparking Megatron’s own sensors, and he pulsed another wave of pleasure through Starscream’s circuits along with the core-deep conviction that Starscream was his, Starscream belonged to him, at his side, not in his shadow but standing beside him in the glorious light of Empire, the Decepticon ideal.

“Oh, oh, ” Starscream sobbed, “Megatron, Megatron, please—”

“Yes,” Megatron breathed, and bit at the delicate cabling of Starscream’s throat and rubbed the open port on his hip, giving it little sweet pulses of current that would ricochet all through the access channel until it hit the end and the current died, and then Megatron just gave him another, from both ports now in a fierce wash of hot, crackling pleasure. Starscream wailed. It would have been pathetic if it didn’t feel so damn good, Megatron grimly observed, panting massive exhaust cycles as he was driven alongside Starscream towards that inexorable edge. Starscream’s fingers scraped at the back of Megatron’s helm, dragging along the glowing purple lines, and his brilliant eyes were fixed on Megatron’s face.

“You were lying,” Starscream moaned, and his teeth sank into his lip and his optic ridge furrowed as if he were in pain, optics flickering. Megatron growled and jolted Starscream again, and his mouth fell open and he slipped out of most of Megatron’s deeper processes with the shock, but his mouth fell open and he gasped for air and cried out, “You lied, you lied, you lied — Megatron!”

The blowback of pleasure and raw, nameless emotion was blinding. Deafening.

“Starscream,” Megatron rasped as his optics came back online. He leaned down and kissed Starscream’s throat, rubbed his thigh in long sweeps. They were still connected at the chest port. Megatron’s cooling systems felt somewhat strained.

“M-Megatron,” Starscream stammered, heaving through intakes and squirming as he cycled down. His fingers danced over the back of Megatron’s helm as if he were unsure whether to pull Megatron closer or shove him away. “You— I— ”

“You understand now,” Megatron murmured, mouthing delicately along the line of Starscream’s jaw.

Now that they had interfaced, Starscream would understand, just as Megatron now understood. Just as Megatron had seen the emotional rot that three short years alone had flooded Starscream with, had seen his fear and need and relief, so too had Starscream seen Megatron’s gratitude that the Seeker was slowly uncurling from the wreck Megatron had laid eyes on for the first time in three years. Starscream had seen Megatron’s desire for him, his appreciation of that brilliant, glitteringly sharp mind that so frantically plotted and schemed against him. Starscream had seen that Megatron had lied to him.

Let it be known that if our resources were not critical, and our numbers not decimated, and our troops not outgunned, I would atomize you.

If ever there was an excuse to blast Starscream to atoms, the collapse of Megatron’s empire would be it. It was the excuse Starscream himself favored for his usurpation attempts, not that anyone really bought it: that Megatron was driving the army into disarray and defeat. No one would say that it wasn’t Megatron’s right to blast Starscream to pieces for actually doing the one thing he’d gone shrieking on about without fail for eight million years. And aside from Skywarp and Thundercracker, no one would be particularly upset about it, either.

But Starscream was still here.

He couldn’t pretend to either one of them that he was sorry for it. That seeing his prideful second broken-down and hopeless had not wrapped a fist around his spark chamber and squeezed, as much as the sight of Needlenose’s frayed stumps, offered up to him as piteous evidence of how far the Decepticon army had fallen, had lit his fuel tank with rage.

Megatron carefully withdrew his cable, securing them safely behind their housings once more. Starscream bit his lip again, and turned his face against Megatron’s neck. He heard Starscream’s ports clicking shut, and then the only sound was their mingled exhaust cycles.

It took a disproportionate effort to shift off Starscream and sit upright on the edge of the berth. Immediately he felt very cold.

It was peaceful though, for once, with Starscream in the room.

The sound of Starscream shifting behind him drew Megatron out of his thoughts. He turned slightly and looked. Starscream had pushed himself more-or-less upright, and he said, eyes down, “I’ll just go, then.”

Megatron said nothing, for a moment. His emotional subsystem was struggling extremely violently with something enormous.

There was nothing he could say that would make Starscream stay with him.

He wanted Starscream to stay .

He—he wanted—

Starscream came to an abrupt halt, wheeled sharply and stared down at their hands. At Megatron’s hand, wrapped loosely around Starscream’s wrist. Megatron’s own gaze never strayed from Starscream’s face. He knew what he was doing.

He may not have made the conscious decision to do it, but he knew. Of course. Obviously his emotional subsystem had either given up or suppressed whatever it had been struggling with—Megatron had no idea yet which it was—and had then kicked something , and it was hardly a stroke of genius to work out that it would shove him into latching on to the one thing that he wanted, deep in his core, that was still within his immediate armspan.

Starscream pulled his wrist out of Megatron’s grasp. His fingers nearly twitched with the urge to tighten and drag Starscream to him by force if he had to, servos grinding as he fought to stay still, to stay in control. The effort it took to let him go. But Starscream didn’t immediately flounce away shrieking about Megatron pawing at him, or, far worse—and far more likely, based on how things had gone up to this point—slink off like some wary, depressed shade. He just stood looking down at Megatron for a long moment.

And then, slowly, his mouth curved into a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> "The armies separated; and, it is said, Pyrrhus replied to one that gave him joy of his victory that one other such victory would utterly undo him."  
> –Plutarch, The Life of Phyrrus
> 
> (look i can't not be pretentious ok)


End file.
